


Hush

by The_Winter_Straw



Series: Free Fic Raffle Prizes [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Romance, original character has wings, original character is an Avenger, original character is ex-HYDRA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: It is better to wander together, than to lose oneself all alone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Free Fic Raffle Prizes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687426
Kudos: 9





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> No real notes on requirements this time, as this was a fairly detailed request and all I did was follow it. I will say that I do _not_ write songfics as a rule. The requester asked me to include "Lullaby" by Josh Groban. As such, I did include a few lines from the song in the dialogue, so all credit for that goes to him.
> 
> **Winner July 2019:** Nimbrethil of the Shire/HufflepuffWitch31

Madeline Graham did not often find herself in the position of getting a good night’s sleep. The _position_ was often the cause of her sleeplessness, too. Oh, there were other factors—being on the run, her recurring nightmares, the unruly housemates—but above all what got in the way (literally) of her finding rest were the enormous feathered wings that sprouted from her back. There was a specially-designed harness for her back at Avengers HQ…but she doubted she would ever see it again. Tony had probably destroyed it after his fight with Steve and Bucky all those months ago. Shuri was working on a new one, which might have been some help that night _if_ Madeline had been anywhere near Wakanda. She was not. 

Exactly where she was in the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t sure. Somewhere in Scandinavia. Steve decided where the team went. Madeline simply followed. Nowadays such trips were not the swift and efficient missions the Avengers had gone on when she first joined, but instead slow journeys with frequent stops at seedy motels with rooms holding single beds. It wasn’t that she resented the work without Tony’s direct funding. Her life had seen her sleeping in much worse conditions than this, but so had her current roommate, and she felt terrible about the possibility of keeping _him_ up with all her tossing and turning and failed attempts at finding a position to sleep in that wouldn’t crush her wings beneath her body. 

Eventually she gave up, slipping into an uneasy slumber while twisted awkwardly on her belly. Her deep breaths stirred the crimson feathers on one of the wings drooping into her pale face. Even when folded, her twenty-three foot wingspan took up a lot of space—which was why said roommate had to sleep in the moldering old armchair by the window. Knowing he was there was probably the only reason Madeline felt safe enough to sleep at all. Unfortunately, that feeling of safety was not enough to keep her bad dreams at bay that night. Beneath her lids, her eyes twitched frantically; her fingernails scrabbled against the scratchy sheets beneath her. The screaming and the gunshots began as always, then— 

_Snap_. 

With a great gasp of air, Madeline wrenched open her hazel eyes. Her heart pounded painfully inside her rib cage. Whether or not that was due to her nightmare or her scare just then, she didn’t know. Must have been the former because nothing moved in the bit of the dark, dingy room visible from her uncomfortable perch. The adrenaline in her bones slowly drifted away as she realized there were no HYDRA agents nearby, no cyrofreezers, no electric chairs. Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Natasha were all in rooms right down the hall. She was safe. 

But not, she realized, safe enough to try going back to sleep. Those few minutes she had snagged would be all she could risk that night. If she had stayed in that dream any longer, she’d have seen the blood and brain matter again. That was just too much on top of the mission they’d run the day before. Groaning, Madeline heaved herself into a seated position on the bedbug-ridden mattress. She had to press the heels of her hands into her eyes before she could read the numbers on the dusty radio clock sitting atop the chipped bedside table: 3:02. Too early for a shower, then, though her short, navy hair felt in desperate need of one. Maybe she could splash some cold water on her face, then see what passed for entertainment in whatever country this was at that time of night. All she had to do was stand, and— 

_Snap_. 

In one smooth movement, she spun around, unfurled her wings, and got into a defensive position she had learned from Natasha. Madeline prepared to make a run at the intruder and sound the alarm…only to find there _was_ no intruder. While she had been wrong about nothing in the room moving earlier, the person making the strange noises was _supposed_ to be there. He was the roommate she had been so concerned about keeping awake. 

“Bucky?” she asked. 

The man that loomed over the dilapidated armchair did not look at her. In fact, he made no motion to indicate he had heard her at all. He just lifted his metal hand before using it to rip the arm clean off the chair. Stuffing burst into the air. Bucky didn’t seem to notice _that_ either, because he went straight for the remaining arm. 

“Bucky, what are you doing?” Madeline whispered. She moved swiftly to his side to gaze up into his face. Her stomach jolted when she saw that his expression was entirely blank. “Bucky?” 

His vacant eyes did not find her. They were fixed upon some different place, some different time. She knew that look very well. It just wasn’t supposed to _happen_ anymore. He raised his arm again, but that time, Madeline lunged. 

If the sound of her voice hadn’t registered in Bucky’s mind, the weight of her body obviously did. The second she grabbed his metal fist, his arm’s moment changed, swinging backward to send her sprawling onto the scratchy carpet. She gasped as she got the air knocked out of her, but did not let go. 

_Now_ she had his full attention. Turning away from the destroyed piece of furniture, he wrenched her right back into the air. Her shoulder screamed in protest. 

“Bucky, you have to stop this,” she begged him. 

He did not respond. Madeline made a second lunge for his flesh hand, but even in his present condition Bucky seemed to know what she was trying to do. Her own hand grasped only air; she watched as he pulled his out of her reach. A slight clicking sound was the only warning she had before his metal hand swung up, too, with her still dangling from it. Gritting her teeth, she reached again for the _other_ hand. It was already moving—and clocked her right in the jaw. 

She bit back a moan. Fighting Bucky was always something like going toe to toe with Tony’s Hulkbuster, and this wasn’t even a _real_ fight. It would escalate into one, though, if she didn’t stop Bucky soon. It would already be a miracle if she managed to subdue him without attracting the attention of the motel’s other tenants. Natasha was _not_ going to buy that the inevitable bruise blooming on Madeline’s cheek had come from the _official_ scuffle the day before. But she couldn’t let them know. This wasn’t Bucky’s fault. If Steve or Sam found out he was having episodes _after_ Shuri released him from Cryostasis, they might never let him out on a mission again. 

Her wings fluttered uselessly behind her. The room was far too cramped for her to use them without making a tremendous amount of noise. She could tell by the look in Bucky’s eyes that reasoning with him wasn’t going to work, and by the pain in her face that she wouldn’t be able to take another hit. It was now or never. Summoning up all her remaining strength, Madeline hefted herself upward, just enough to—there!—snatch his flesh hand out of the air. 

Though he strained to get out of her grip, it was too late. Her thumb brushed against the soft skin there as she murmured, “hush.” 

Bucky froze. 

Madeline locked her eyes with his. They were still blank. “Now don’t you cry,” she crooned softly. “Rest your eyes, my butterfly.” 

A gigantic shudder passed through his body. It was possible, she knew, that Shuri had removed this safeguard even without removing the need for it. Madeline braced for an impact that never came. Instead, as she went on singing, Bucky slowly lowered her until her bare feet touched the floor. His hand remained held in hers until the very end of the song, when at last he blinked and used his fingers to rub at his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him gently. 

Bucky shook his head. “No. I gotta…gotta get rid of that chair…before…before they can _use_ it…” 

“Bucky, look at me.” He didn’t, so she carefully touched his cheek. “Do I look like I did when they used the chair?” 

His arm shook as he lowered it, inch by meager inch, to take her in. She left her own hand where it was and gazed steadily back at him. Of course she looked different: healthy, well-fed, warm—not to mention that navy hair dye was in short supply in most underground HYDRA lairs. Just in case that wasn’t enough to convince him, she twitched her wings a few times, as if to highlight that they were no longer strapped down to prevent her from using them to throttle her keepers. 

“Maddie?” he croaked. 

“It’s me, Buck.” 

“But I—they’re going to—we have to get rid of—” 

He twisted back toward the remains of the armchair, gulped, and turned to her again. To Madeline’s surprise, his eyes were wet. That he covered he hand on his cheek with his own was a greater surprise still. 

“We’re in…well, we’re somewhere in Scandinavia,” she said. “Steve brought us here on an assignment yesterday. Remember?” 

He nodded, but the wetness in his eyes did not go away. 

“Bucky, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not!” The warmth of his face vanished as he abruptly pulled away from her. He paced the length of the room, running his metal fingers through his hair. Neither of them said anything for a long time, not until Bucky let out a single long, ragged breath and came to a halt. “I could have hurt someone. I could have hurt you.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“Not _this_ time. What about next time?” 

“There won’t _be_ a next time.” Madeline stepped up to him. “We’ll be back in Wakanda this time tomorrow. Shuri will be there. She can get you all sorted out. 

“No,” he said hollowly, “she can’t.” 

“Shuri is smart, Bucky. This was a setback, that’s all. She won’t say anything if we ask her not to. We’ll keep it a secret. No one else has to know you’ve got some orders still inside your head.” 

“That’s just _it_. It wasn’t a command. _I_ did it. It was all me.” 

Against her better judgement, Madeline glanced at the wrecked chair. Stuffing littered the carpet. A broken piece of furniture, however, was something that T’Challa would probably happily pay expenses for. What worried her more was Bucky and how wretched he sounded. “Wasn’t a command? But then—” she gasped. “You had a nightmare, didn’t you?” 

He hesitated a moment before nodding. “How did you…” 

“I have them, too.” 

“You…you do?” 

“Yeah.” She let out a weak laugh. “I was having one before you woke me up, actually.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Want to talk about it?” 

There was another long pause wherein Bucky looked everywhere but at her. Meanwhile, Madeline sank back onto the bed. She couldn’t say so, but she felt better knowing that Bucky, too, had bad dreams, that she was not the only one playing some horrible vision of a happy family getting slaughtered night in and night out, like a song that got stuck in her head to grow louder and louder with each replay until she thought she might explode. Then he said: 

“No.” 

Deflating a little, she nodded. It was late; he was embarrassed; this was not the time to press for details that were probably more than a little private. Bucky had been in HYDRA’s service much longer than she had. Whatever he dreamed about was probably a lot worse (and more varied) than what _her_ mind liked to put on display. Madeline smiled shakily, but refused to allow herself to show him how much _she_ could have used a talk. 

“All right, then, if you’re sure. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, Bucky,” she said. 

There was no way she would be going back to sleep. She _knew_ that. The adrenaline from her tussle with Bucky still ran through her veins like hot oil, and there was still the problem of how to hold her wings so her back wouldn’t ache on the trip back to the palace. Still, Madeline felt she had to pretend, for his sake. _He_ might still be able to rest that night, so she rolled over and closed her eyes until she heard him speak a single word: 

“Wait.” 

“Mm?” 

Again she pulled herself up, and again she found herself momentarily arrested by his piercing blue eyes. No longer did he avoid looking at her, although he still sounded a little shy when he asked: 

“What are your nightmares about?” 

She cocked her head slightly to one side. “Why do you want to know?” 

“I…you’re right. It’s too personal. Forget I asked.” 

His attempt to get back to what remained of his sleeping arrangements was stopped by her grabbing his hand once more. Bucky glanced at her over his shoulder, shame painted clear in the pink in his face. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. 

“It’s okay.” Madeline tugged on his arm. “I trust you.” 

Before he could protest any further, she patted the spot on the bed to her right and let him go. She couldn’t help sighing a little at dredging up that imagery in her waking hours, but Bucky’s shifting weight as he sat down beside her gave her enough strength to go on. 

“I guess it must be some mission HYDRA sent me on,” she told him. “It starts at a house. A completely normal suburban house. Remember those? Garden in the front, tire swing in the tree, mailbox slot in the door? Seems crazy to imagine _me_ in one, right? Every single time, I walk up the path and through that door, and inside there’s a woman sitting in a kitchen. She smiles at me, like…like she _knows_ me.” 

Absently, Madeline frowned and clutched at a lock of her hair. The thought of someone _knowing_ her—anyone that wasn’t Bucky—was absurd. And yet she couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that that woman had _expected_ her to come in that afternoon. Who _expected_ to get a visit from some freak with wings? 

“Is that all?” Bucky’s voice interrupted her musings. 

Madeline started. She had almost forgotten where she really was. 

She shook her head. “We talk. I never remember about what once I wake up. Nothing important, I guess. Two other girls show up to chat, and then a man about the same age as the first woman. And then…” 

“And then?” 

“Then all hell breaks loose. HYDRA agents storm the building. There’s screaming and blood and gunshots and I’m _there_ , but I don’t know what I’m doing and when the smoke clears…I’m the only one standing. The woman is still there, slumped over the table. She still looks at me. But she doesn’t _know_ me anymore.” 

Her voice broke. Madeline felt the tears spilling from her eyes, though she made no move to stem their flow. Over the course of her story, she had balled into herself as much as her wings would allow. Why? _Why_? So many people had died at her hands. Why did _this_ family continue to haunt her? 

A sudden pressure on her shoulder caused her to look around. Bucky didn’t remove his hand after she spotted him touching her there. 

“It wasn’t you, Maddie,” he said softly. “Not really.” 

A tremulous nod was all she could offer in reply. She _did_ know that—just as she knew Bucky knew it about himself, too, and couldn’t forgive himself either. Sniffling, she forced herself to unwind. 

“How about you? What’s in your dreams?” 

He shrugged, and a far-off look crept across his face. “The chair, mostly. Assassinations. Trying to kill Steve.” Bucky paused, then added quietly, “the night I killed Howard and his wife. I dream about that a lot now.” 

It was Madeline’s turn to say, “It wasn’t you.” 

“Doesn’t make you feel any better, does it?” 

“Not one bit.” 

“We’re a couple of wrecks, aren’t we?” he said with a wry smile that she returned. 

“Could be worse. Could be wrecks alone.” 

“That’s true. Thanks. For everything you’ve done tonight.” 

“I’d do it all again if I needed to.” 

“I know you would.” 

After that, Bucky didn’t speak. Perhaps he was reliving his nightmares while awake as well. He opened his mouth a few times; Madeline thought he must have had something more to say. Nothing came. She was just about to suggest they at least _pretend_ to be sleeping for Steve’s inevitable arrival to wake them up in a few hours when finally he said hesitantly, “Maddie?” 

“Yes?” 

“That song you were singing earlier. Could you sing it again?” 

“Sure, if you want.” 

He nodded. “It makes me feel better.” 

So Madeline began to sing: “Hush now, baby, don’t you cry…” She sang the whole song. Long before she came to the end, Bucky’s head came to rest on her shoulder. His breathing slowed not long after. With a smile, she tucked her wing around him to draw him closer. And then? 

Then something a little magical happened. Sleep overcame her right and then there, sitting upright, with a heavy super soldier leaning most of his weight against her side. It turned out _her_ position wasn’t the problem. It had been Bucky’s position all along. Once he was where he was supposed to be, Madeline was out like a light. She’d do it again, too, a thousand times, even if each and every time ended the same as the first: waking up to see Steve and Natasha standing in the doorway, watching the two of them smugly over cups of cheap motel coffee.


End file.
